


Coming Home

by cerie



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-30
Updated: 2012-06-30
Packaged: 2017-11-08 21:20:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerie/pseuds/cerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Helen/Will, post series.  On their way to capture an Abnormal in Bali, Magnus and Will find their way home again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> This porn is brought to you by the airport, where I am stuck at the moment. Say your thank yous to the FAA.

Magnus hates airports. It’s not something that she lets on very often, considering she’s Magnus and is therefore the definition of calm and collected but she hates them. When it’s feasible, she flies on one of the numerous private jets owned by the Sanctuary network but sometimes she does have to fly commercial, especially if she wants to fly under the radar and not be noticed. Lear jets are, unfortunately, pretty noticeable.

Considering how the UN and Addison are breathing down their necks and think Magnus is actually _dead_ , they’re flying commercial. For all it gets touted that the TSA is full of rule-sticklers, it’s surprisingly easy to fake identification with a little help from Henry and Will and Magnus are Rob and Amanda for a day, sight-seers on their way from rainy Seattle to exotic Bali for a month’s holiday.

Since they’re playing husband and wife and Magnus looks tense enough to snap someone in two, Will chances sliding up behind her in the security line and massaging her shoulders, thumbs working knots from stiff muscles. If she’s a little incredulous at first she soon gets into the spirit of things and lolls her head forward, sighing, and Will works his hand up her neck and to the base of her skull.

There’s a brief interruption to go through security proper and once they’re settled on a plane to Tokyo, there’s a ten hour flight where Will gets half-restful sleep and Magnus attempts to read a novel. At some point, the flight attendant brings them a blanket and apologizes that she’s only got the one; apparently first class passengers get apologies. Will waves her off with a smile and spreads the blanket out for he and Magnus to share, smiling a bit when Magnus curls against his shoulder and actually falls asleep.

They wake up at the gate and Will shuffles a sleepy Magnus first into a teashop and then onto another flight, to Taiwan, and then another to Bali. They’re not there for holiday, of course, there’s work to be done, but Will guesses if they’d gotten there early enough to see the island in daylight, it would be beautiful. It’s lush and tropical and even though he’s lost all sense of space and time in the betwixt and between of international travel (they crossed the Date Line, at some point; Will thinks it might have been when Magnus was snoring on his shoulder), he can still appreciate the finer things.

Finer things like the little beachside cabin Magnus has rented for them, an ideal couple’s retreat. They’re not a couple in the traditional sense but all through customs, he keeps his hand at the small of her back, around her waist, draped over her shoulder. She doesn’t seem to mind it and after shuffling through airports all night and day, seems to turn into his touch and relax. 

Neither of them are modest enough to be worried about seeing the other undressed and when Will suggests he wants a shower, Magnus nods mutely and follows him in, stripping off her shirt without much preamble. While this cabin should have enough for two showers, easily, Will lets Magnus share with him and decides just to have an extra-long, extra-hot shower instead. They’re a good team, he and Magnus, and she barely has to reach for something before Will has it in hand. He takes his time washing her hair, fingertips massaging her scalp, and she makes an obscene little noise and tips her head forward in the after-hours version of the massage in airport number one.

When her hair’s clean and water runs off in steamy, clear rivulets, Will chances leaning forward and kissing the nape of her neck. Magnus gasps a little and arches back against him, breathing a sigh that says more without having to be explicit about it. Will reaches for the soap (something that smells of lemon and jasmine and all things tropical and exotic) and slides it over her curves. He’s efficient, yes, but not shy about where he touches and when he glides one lathered hand over the slope of her breast, Magnus sighs again and breathes a single word:

“Please?”

He can’t say no. He should say no, really, but he can’t. While it wasn’t this dynamic in particular he ever expected from her, Will’s been asking to be Magnus’s partner for the better part of a year now. Now that she’s faked her death (and his, neatly enough) and let him in on her glorious secret, she’s wanted to rebuild trust. Trust is a thing built over time, though, and destroyed like a house of cards in a hurricane if the wind blows right. The wind’s blowing right tonight, considering there’s a typhoon offshore, and soon their balmy tropical paradise will be ravaged with bitter winds and driving rains. Magnus hopes to capture a rare Abnormal, a siren that only shows up in the worst weather to coax unsuspecting sailors out to the deadly seas, and they’ll be in the thick of the storm come twelve hours from now. But now, it’s time to rest and gather strength. For Will, it’s a chance to reconnect and see Magnus as something other than mentor and friend. A true partner, in every sense of the word.

His hand slips down beneath her breast and flattens against her stomach as she tilts her head and kisses him, full and deep. It’s complex, with layer after layer like a complicated port mixed with a fine cigar. She’s got notes of lavender and tea and something inexplicably _Magnus_ , an anachronism that refuses to change in spite of a constant buffeting from the winds of time and loss. When she touches her tongue to his, he slides his hand down lower and his thumb finds her clitoris, rolling over it in a lazy circuit until her hips buck in desperation. 

In all truth, he should move them. They should go to bed or to a couch or to somewhere other than shower but Will thinks, in a way, it’s perfect. So many times has he seen Magnus wet (in the innocuous and the sensuous, now) and it only makes sense to take this step with hot water beating down their backs and flushing their skin. Magnus shifts forward a little, bracing her palms against the tiled wall, and her thighs spread in another invitation. Will confirms it verbally, though, before laying his hand to cover hers and entering her from behind. She’s trapped now, between him and slick tile and Will guides her other hand down to touch where they join, fingers circling her wrist to keep them in place. She can’t escape. Will doesn’t want her to. Not this time.

When she comes, she brings him with her and it’s slow and lazy but no less desperate for it. He slumps against her back, curving against her body, and kisses her temple softly. The water’s still warm and while most people want out of the rain, usually, it feels like home to Will.

A world away from what they know but they’ve finally come home.


End file.
